Sin City: Family
by Benji The Vampire Confuser
Summary: Small town boy Tommy Durgan travels to the big city to search for his long lost sister.
1. Default Chapter

**Sin City: Family**

**Or**

**Country Mouse, City Mouse**

**By Benji: The Vampire Confuser**

_Based on Sin City created by Frank Miller. (based more on the movie than the comics as that's what I know.(for now))_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The local country station faded to white noise 30 miles out of town. Since then it's been an endless stream of preachers, black men who can't sing, black men who can sing, white boys who wish they were black, so-called music that would make my folk's ears bleed as they crossed themselves and prayed for the performer's souls. Y'know, that rock and roll.

Dunno if I could truly say I'm a country fan. When it's all you've known while growing up, it's not really a choice. It's a lack of options. I didn't care for the preachers. Not that I object on general principals, hell I'm a church goer, just seems to me that what goes on in a man's soul is between him and God. I don't need some faceless wannabe God's Favorite tellin' me what I already know.

As for the black men who can't sing, I ain't racist. But all they can talk about is disrespectin' ladies, drugs and violence. I want that I turn on the six o'clock news. The black men who can sing ain't bad. I listen to them for a bit. The white boys who wish they were black just make me shake my head.

The others, an endless stream of angry, bitter kids who probably wouldn't have known such hard times if they'd listened to their folks. But I listen anyway. Not so much to the words, as to the music itself. It kinda gets under your skin and makes you excited. Some of it anyway, some it's downright jarring and unpleasant. But I wonder, listening to the sounds of the latest tirade from a kid who'd never make a cent if parents didn't forbid their children from listening to him, was it really this that did it?

Was mom right? Was it this "devil music" that took our Susie away from us? Made her want to leave? 'Cause I gotta say, I never really found myself wonderin' about the world outside till I heard some of this. Is that the real reason our parents don't want us to listen to it? Does it draw us away? Will we ever want to come home once we've seen what the world has to offer?

Other small towns come and go, more preachers and music it never occurred to me to wonder about. Signs for restaurants offering disgusting fare that has me yearning for Mom's mashed potatoes. They all start to run together after a while. Till you can't tell a McDonald's from a Wendy's, a Taco Bell from a Pizza Hut. I almost lost my bowels when I actually saw a KFC and a Hardee's combined in the same building. I thought the miles had finally affected my mind.

Fast food. Drive through ATM's. Billboards advertising high speed internet. Faster. Everything out here in the world seems to be about faster, and faster. Everyone's in such a hurry. I can't count how many have passed me, some even being downright belligerent about it.

Well sorry folks but I can't say that I'm in any hurry to reach my destination. I think of stopping at a few of these roadside attractions I pass, partly to stall. But though I may be driving the speed limit, I've got a momentum going, and if I stop when it's not necessary I may lose my nerve and not get going again. And I've got to keep going. I have to. I have to get there.

The latest American Idol is crooning on the radio as I pull into a rest area about an hour from my destination. I have to empty my bladder and stretch my legs. My knees complain irritably as I stand outside the truck. Damn, I haven't spent that long on my ass since before I can remember. Everything back home was within walking distance.

"Anyplace worth going to is worth walking to." Grandpa always used to say. Grandpa never rode in a motor vehicle in his life. He once walked from Niagra Falls to The Grand Canyon. Took him a while, but he always said that the trip, and the destination was worth it.

Across the road from the traveler's respite is a gate blocking a dirt drive just starting to give way to the constant onslaught of nature. That's how I know I'm almost there. Not the signs that tell me how many miles to go. That gate. The Rourke Farm.

Powerful men make powerful enemies on the way up. And they didn't get much more powerful than Senator Rourke. Hell of a scandal when it finally broke. No one knows who got the word out, but somebody must've smelled blood on the water when the Senator's son was killed. Then when the Bishop was murdered that seemed to be the last nail in the coffin.

Jr. was a serial child molester and murderer. The Bishop was a cannibal. Like I said, hell of a scandal. I don't think my folks'll ever recover. Not completely. They voted for Rourke, mourned with him when Jr.'d fallen victim to the cop who'd taken the fall for the kids. That and the mess in Boston with those priests almost made them convert to Protestantism.

Brand name sodas. I miss home more and more and I only left this morning. A few coins in the slot of one of the machines and I recharge with a chocolate bar and cola. The sun's approaching it's farewell moments when I finally muster up the nerve to get back on the road.

Time to find Susie.

Time to find my sister.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Welcome to Basin City." Population more people than I've ever seen in one place. Someone's spray painted out the B, and A on the sign. So now it said "Welcome to Sin City". I can't help but laugh. Truer words. Hell just the fact that no one had bothered to fix the darn thing spoke volumes about the place.

The sun has set by the time I see the sign, and I just have to stop for a minute and pull over.

Now I ain't no babe in the woods. I've been to city's before. School trips to the capital, museums and the like. But I've never seen one like this. At night. It's...well to tell the truth there's a bit of beauty in it. All the lights, you can almost forget that the place is a cesspit of the worst of humanity.

Now that's what Granny calls this place. Well she says that of pretty much every city really. But this place, Basin City, well this has got a reputation all it's own. It's like everything bad about every other place has been magnified here.

Of all cities, why'd Susie come to this one? We all knew the reputation, even before the Rourkes went down. Every time the news said anything about inner city crime, this place topped the list. The cops were more corrupt, the gangs fiercer, the streets in worse shape, and the gap between the haves and the have nots wider, than any other city on Earth.

Or so the stories say. I don't know. Maybe they're exaggerated to scare us kids into staying home. All I know for sure is this is where Susie went. And we ain't heard from her since. Just a post card and a phone call to let us know she'd arrived. Then nothing.

I don't even know if she's even alive. So many things slip through the cracks in the big cities. If she's dead I don't know how I'll ever find out.

Well, enough lallygagging. Reluctantly, I put the truck back into gear and head down the hill towards the city. Feels like those tall buildings there are staring at me. Come on get a grip on your self country mouse. Remember what Uncle Horace said. "City'll eat ya alive if ya let it boy. Never let it see yer fear."

I hadn't exactly been given carte blanche by ma. But the credit card she gave me should be enough to cover my expenses. Long as I don't live extravagantly. Which I have no intention of doing.

I don't much savor wanderin' around aimless at night, so I pull into a pothole eaten parking lot of some dingy motel. Bet to some big shot place like this is a hellhole. I seen cabins with five people livin' in 'em that were worse. Had less teeth than the guy behind the counter too.

"Diner just down the street." he says. "Not much to do around these parts, pool hall, bar, that's about it till you get into the city proper."

I decide what the hell, and pull out the picture.

"You ever seen this girl? Mighta come through here, bout, well a few years ago."

"Hmm, not as I recall just of top of my head. I'll think on it a bit."

"Thanks."

I dump my bag on the bed and decide I'm glad I brought my sleeping bag. I don't much trust that mattress. Then a quick bite at the diner. Food ain't great, but I've had worse. Then it's into the bar. Maybe get my bearings a bit, maybe just to get hammered to help me sleep.

The bar ain't exactly what I'm used to. Dimly lit, yeah. But not a pair of blue jeans to be seen. Neon beer signs, check. But the music on the juke box is more of that angry bullshit I couldn't listen to much of on the radio.

Pool table, check. But the folks around it all look like the type you wouldn't want to run into in a back alley. Well let's face it, I've never been in a back alley, but doubt anyone you're likely to meet there is the type you'd want to.

Guess this crowd explains the line of motorcycles out front. Thank god I left my hat in the room. I'm dressed enough like a redneck as it is. It ain't hard to tell I'm not from around here.

Best thing to do in a situation like this I suppose is keep to yourself, and holy shit that girl has pink hair.

Empty stool at the bar, and what the hell, I came for a beer, and by god I'm gonna have at least one. Don't let yourself be intimidated. City folk can smell fear they say.

How's one get the attention of the bar tender in this place? Back home I just call out to Jesse to get me my usual. Chances are this girl's name ain't Jesse.

Turns out I didn't need to worry. "What can I get ya stranger?" she asks, smiling. Oh, so people do smile in the city. Somehow the pink hair doesn't bother me up close. "I haven't seen you around here before. Ya new to basin City?"

"What gave it away? The outfit?"

"Somethin' like that." she says as she starts to wash some glasses in the small sink behind the bar. "Why in the hell would you move to a place like this?"

Move here? Right. I ain't that crazy. "Oh I'm not plannin' on makin' a home here. I'm looking for my sister. Immigrated here you might say a few years ago. Joanie Sullivan."

"Well good...most of us are born here...we don't know any better, and so we stay. No...I can't say that I've heard of her. "You can ask around...not to be rude or anything, but us girls have a way of becoming tarnished around here. If no one has seen her here...then I would check in Old Town."

"Yeah," I say carefully, taking a swig of the beer, "I've heard that. No offense but yer city here don't exactly what you'd call a good reputation in the outside world." Not that I've seen much of the outside world. "Though, so far it ain't that bad." I give her a smile, that's been considered charmin' back home. Great, not one day in this city and I'm flirtin' with the bartender. Thought you were gonna try to avoid trouble hereabouts.

"As far as I know we are beyond bad, so someone out there must be bein' nice." she smiles, and it seems so out of place in here. To look at most of the folks I've seen so far, you'd think smiling was an alien concept. But I gotta say, that's a smile that could inspire a man to not worry about getting' into trouble. "Anyway...If she's here, if she hasn't been picked up by one of the gangsters or killed, she might be workin' in old town. I wish I knew what else to tell ya.." she pauses a minute, lookin' at me, a little confused I guess. "Why did your sister come here anyway? I mean...why would ANYONE come here...nothin' good could come of it."

I almost choke on my beer when she says that. I've tried not to assume the worst. Hell I've tried not to think about the possibilities. "Yeah, no good. We tried tellin' her that. But Susie, she never was one to listen to advice when she got it in her head to do somethin'." With a sigh and a rueful smile at her, I order another beer. "I don't know really why she came here. But she was never satisfied with clean country livin' if ya know what I mean."

Old Town. That sounds promising actually. Susie may have been a bit of a wild child, but she was also really interested in history. That was actually one of the things she'd wanted to leave for. Our little town was old, but it was too small to really have enough history to satisfy her. Hell maybe she got herself a job to go to college or something.

But then why didn't she write to tell us?

'S about then that a meaty, unfriendly hand finds my shoulder. "So, I hear you're new in town cowboy."

Great. I think someone's taken exception to my chattin' up the bar girl.

To Be Continued...


End file.
